


Bless You

by Akiruchan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, stiles is a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiruchan/pseuds/Akiruchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a sneeze...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bless You

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote in a hurry. Was trying to practice writing past tense again... I'm sure I failed. lol.

It started with a sneeze. 

Stiles was standing, bag of chips and cheap off brand soda in hand, in line at the local gas station. The itch in his nose started without much preamble and followed through to a decent full belly sneeze. It wasn’t something that Stiles couldn’t handle. Just a little sneeze, not a precursor to the flu. At its worst, Stiles could expect a mild case of a cold, and at best, a day off from school. 

Another sneeze followed the second, only seconds after the first, and had Stiles’ eyes watering with the force of it. He sniffled and rearranged his loot in his arms. 

“Bless you.”

The voice, gravelly and stern, had Stiles almost dropping his chips despite his best effort to hang onto them. Of all the places Stiles had ever imagined bumping into Derek Hale, especially right after his big macho ‘I am Alpha’ moment, it wasn’t at the local gas station. Especially not carrying what looked suspiciously like junk food and a beer. 

“You like barbeque flavored chips?” It wasn’t the most eloquent introduction Stiles was capable of, but really, the guy actually ate normal people food. Stiles had this whole idea in his head of Derek all wolfed out and hunting down helpless woodland creatures. This new realization seemed to ruin that theory, and even if Stiles was a little put off, he could now sleep well knowing that no furry bunnies were in danger of becoming Derek’s midnight snack. 

It seemed as if Stiles had spaced out, missing both Derek’s reply and the cashier waving impatiently for Stiles to hurry and put his purchases on the counter. There was something a little disconcerting about turning his back on Derek. Not that he expected him to rip Stiles to shreds, although it had been a favorite threat of Derek’s. 

Stiles couldn’t be blamed for being a little uncomfortable. The last time he had seen Derek, he’d been clawing the throat out of his uncle. Sure the guy was bad, like super evil villainous level bad, and Stiles was happy he was literally six feet under, but that still didn’t erase the fact that Derek had been the one to put him there. 

Another glance was thrown over Stiles’ shoulder, eyeing Derek up and down as his chips and soda were rung up. Derek looked normal enough. Sure, his jeans were a little roughed up, and his white wife-beater was a little tighter than need be, but Stiles wasn’t going to judge. Unfortunately, another tickle was working its way up Stiles’ nose, and he had the misfortune of sneezing right onto Derek’s chest. 

“Oh, crap! I did not just do that,” Stiles said. His hands flailed all around him, looking for something to do, but he only managed to sneeze again. Maybe he really was coming down with the flu. 

Derek rolled his eyes, seemingly unimpressed with Stiles’ efforts of an apology. “Stiles,” he growled, an honest to God growl, “Just pay.” 

That shut up whatever idiotic thing Stiles was sure would have flopped from his mouth. He turned on his heel back towards the cashier and threw five bucks down. 

Stiles sneezed at least three more times between the time he grabbed his change and headed for the door. It was slightly embarrassing, and Stiles promised himself never to mention this moment to anyone. Not even on pain of death. 

The keys to the Jeep were pushed into the ignition, and Stiles headed home, putting all of this behind him. 

\---

Three days passed, and Stiles was happy to report that he was as healthy as ever. No cold in his immediate future, and never if he could help it. It was Tuesday, and his Dad had him running errands after school. Stiles’ guilt was already overflowing where his Dad was concerned, and telling him no to picking up plumbing to fix the drain in the master bathroom was not something Stiles could do. His dad was guilt tripping him without even knowing it. How messed up was that? 

Luckily, the hardware store was on his way home. Stiles planned on going in and getting out as fast as he could. He was meeting up with Scott at six with plans for pizza and video games. Normal stuff that seemed almost too nostalgic anymore. When did normal become not boring? That was what Stiles wanted to know. He suspected the whole werewolf thing was to blame. 

The chime over the door rang, signaling Stiles’ entrance. Roger, an older man who knew Stiles since he was in diapers, was behind the counter and greeted him with a wave and a smile. ‘Have to love small towns,’ Stiles thought, although even he wasn’t sure if there was some bitterness there. Beacon Hills had really become the typical horror movie small town. That wasn’t an uplifting thought. 

Pipes! Stiles reminded himself, mind washed clean of anything dark or depressing. He was here for piping. Bouncing from aisle to aisle, Stiles searched, finding something interesting to investigate and then going back to looking for pipes. He was about to turn a corner when the itch in his nose was suddenly back. 

The sneezing started before he was even able to bring his hands up to stem the flow. Stiles was about to curse his nose’s bad timing when Derek turned the corner, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Are you getting sick?” Derek asked. 

Stiles could have really rolled his eyes at that. “No, I’m just sneezing for the fun of it. Going for a record, most sneezes within a day.” He really did roll his eyes then and proceeded to sneeze once more. “Dammit, make it stop! It’s you and your broodiness. It brings me congestion.” 

Derek didn’t look impressed. “It’s not my fault,” he said. “Take something before it gets too bad.” And he was gone, stalking around the corner and out of Stiles’ line of sight. 

It took Stiles a minute to make sense of what had just happened there, and another to notice the fading itch in his nose. He sniffed and wiped at it, a frown coming up to mar his face. Derek was gone, taking the sneezing with him. There was something there pushing at Stiles to notice. 

“Oh, God, I am allergic to Derek! I’m allergic to freaking wolves?” After that outburst, Stiles almost left without his Dad’s pipes, but not without an odd look from Roger. Which was okay, since Roger had always thought he was a weird kid anyways. 

\---

When Stiles got home, he spared his Dad a quick hello as he dropped the purchased pipes off on the dining room table. He was up the stairs the next second and into his room, computer on and booting. There was no way Stiles could have acquired an allergy as fast as he had. He hoped the internet could help prove him right. 

An hours worth of research gave various responses, but nothing concrete enough to satiate Stiles’ need for answers. It didn’t help that Scott would be there soon, but he would be a good test subject. Stiles couldn’t remember having ever sneezed in Scott’s presence, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t start. 

“This really shouldn’t even be happening,” he groaned, hands pressed up into his face. “Werewolves shouldn’t even be real, let alone werewolf allergies. They’re not dogs.” Stiles would always deny that statement, if only for the sake of every dog joke that had slipped past his lips. Couldn’t be logical when it came to good humor. 

He was saved from that particular train of thought when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” he yelled as he came stampeding down the stairs. His dad had been halfway across the living room and towards the door when Stiles plowed right past him. The door was swung open to reveal Scott standing calmly on the front step with an indulgent smile on his face. 

Scott was far too used to Stiles’ behavior to be even slightly surprised by it. “Hey, man,” he said as he moved into the house and gave Stiles a friendly pat on the back. It was a very brotherly exchange until Stiles moved closer and sniffed at Scott’s shoulder. “Whoa, dude! You okay?” 

Stiles was pushed back, looking only slightly embarrassed by it. Although Stiles might have to retract his earlier statement, because Scott looked surprised and more than a little confused. There was silence for a moment, and Stiles waited for the tickle in his nose. But it never came. 

“I promise you I showered today,” Scott burst out, looking guiltily between Stiles and his dad. 

“What? Opposed to every other day?” Really, Scott should have seen that one coming. “You know you smell like a wet dog, on most days.” And Stiles should have known he’d be dishing out the dog jokes sooner or later tonight. Obviously much sooner than later, but who was really counting? 

He earned himself a light punch on his shoulder for that comment, but Scott was smiling, so no harm, no foul. Stiles’ dad laughed and shook his head, taking his leave then. “It’s good seeing you, Scott,” he said before disappearing into his office. 

That left the two of them to their own devices. Stiles inclined his head towards the stairs. The hint seemed to be taken, Scott pushing past before both of them tore up the stairs and into Stiles’ bedroom. “Hey, do I really smell like wet dog?” Scott asked as soon as the door was closed. 

Stiles couldn’t hold back the laugh. The sour look on Scott’s face grew deeper, and he fell back onto the bed looking rightly disgruntled. It was quite hard not to let the sulking progress, but Stiles was a good friend, and good friends don’t let their best friends sulk. 

“You smell fine.” Scott didn’t look convinced. “Okay, so maybe sometimes, and only sometimes, do you smell sort of doggy after practice. That’s to be expected, though. At least you don’t have fleas.” 

Stiles just barely dodged the pillow aimed for his head. “Shut up! That’s not even funny.” 

The laugh that Stiles had been holding in rumbled out as he watched Scott scratch at his head. “Power of suggestion, my friend. It’s all the power of suggestion.” 

They began to sober up after that. Stiles came down from his giddy high and ran a hand through his short crop of hair. At least he now knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t allergic to Scott. Which was a good thing, but didn’t give any more answers than what he already had. 

With one big, over the top sigh, Stiles dropped down in his desk chair and looked seriously over towards Scott. “Do you think someone could be allergic to werewolves?” 

Scott just laughed. 

“I’m serious!” 

That quieted Scott down. “You think you’re allergic to werewolves? You seem fine around me.” There was a pause, realization seeming to suddenly hit Scott head on. “Is that why you sniffed me?” 

Stiles chose to ignore that. “I can’t come within ten feet of Derek Hale without going into a fit of sneezes,” he admitted, feeling oddly shameful for it. “Maybe it’s a new cologne?” 

“No,” Scott said. “We really can’t wear that stuff. Messes with our own noses too much.” 

So there went that theory. Stiles deflated into a defeated blob in his chair, sinking into himself. “Maybe I’m just allergic to socially awkward ex-murder suspects?” He was really becoming desperate. Nothing made one ounce of sense. 

“Maybe it has something to do with him becoming the Alpha?” That perked Stiles’ interest, and since when had Scott become the smart one? 

He let the thought trail through his mind, mulling it over and picking out what he could. Suddenly it occurred to him. “Do you think Derek can fully wolf out now? Like Peter did? Full on, hair all over his body, wolf out?” 

Scott seemed to think it over, slowly nodding after a minute. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” 

“Yes! That’s it! Or it could be it. Still better than anything else I can come up with. So then I am allergic to werewolves. Maybe being with Peter triggered the allergy?” Stiles was babbling, ignorant of the confused looks Scott sent him. 

“Mind cluing me in?” Scott finally asked after a moment. 

“Don’t you get it?” Because it seemed so clear now to Stiles. “Derek can turn into an actual scary as hell wolf! With all that hair; very, very wolfish hair. Maybe you’re not wolf enough to trigger my allergy, but Derek is!” It sounded so brilliant to Stiles’ ears. Scott didn’t seem too impressed. 

“If you say so. Just seems a little too weird for me.” 

“Says the werewolf,” Stiles mumbled under his breath. That conversation concluded there, moving onto the new military themed video game coming out next week and which movie they should watch first. 

\---

Three days later, and Stiles had had enough. He’d bumped into Derek two more times since he’d talked with Scott. Once was at the grocery store, which was weird, and Derek was buying sport drinks, and another time at the hardware store. Both occasions proceeded to have Stiles sneezing heavily, so much so that even Derek was beginning to look concerned. Which was unsettling, and made Stiles question how messed up his life was when he felt more comfortable at having Derek annoyed or angry rather than concerned. 

Finally Stiles had had enough. After lacrosse practice, he stomped to his Jeep and sped off towards the burnt remains of the Hale house. Derek’s car was there, parked outside and underneath the shade of trees. Stiles pulled in to park next to it, his eyes glued to the front door of the house the entire time. He knew Derek was aware of his arrival, and Stiles was just waiting to see him come charging out of the house. 

Nothing happened, and after several moments, Stiles cut the engine. He slipped from the Jeep and moved quickly across what used to be the front lawn, and up to the house itself. The rotted boards creaked under his weight, but held. 

The door was unlocked, like always. Stiles pushed it open, moving into the dark innards of the Hale house. He could hear what sounded like hammering coming from somewhere upstairs. It startled him at first, and he sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a cough. The sneeze came next, wracking his body with the force of it. 

“Derek!” Stiles called, looking up the stairs. The hammering stopped, and he waited a moment, expecting to see Derek rounding the corner. When he didn’t come, Stiles huffed and took it upon himself to search Derek out. 

It didn’t take long. Stiles might have never have been in the upper levels of the house, but the halls were easy enough to navigate. There was only one door open, afternoon light filtering in to illuminate the dark hall. He stopped there, neck craned around to peek in through the doorway. Derek was standing there, covered in dust, grime, bits of paint, and wood.

There were pieces of wall scattered across the floor, caked in rot and mold, and Derek was by the far wall, holding up a long piece of drywall while he reached for the nail gun. Stiles chose that precise moment to sneeze and was a little put off when Derek didn’t even jump. 

“Are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to be of some use.” Derek gave him a pointed look and nodded towards the drywall he’d been trying to hold up. 

Stiles scrambled over, hands reaching out to press against the drywall’s cold surface. He continued to sneeze, the dust and mold clogging up his sinuses. Derek came over with the nail gun, shooting into the wall a few times before he patted Stiles on the shoulder, signaling that he could move back. 

“I’m not allergic to you,” Stiles said, feeling stupid for it after the fact. It just all made sense now. He sneezed again and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “It’s the stupid dust and mold you’ve been carting around. What are you even doing?” 

“You thought you were allergic to me?” Derek didn’t look impressed, which made Stiles fidget. 

“Thought I was allergic to werewolves,” Stiles mumbled, taking his chance to look around the room. It was big, and at one point, had probably been very grand. There was a massive king sized four poster bed falling to pieces in the corner, and along the right wall the remains of a fireplace and mantle. If Stiles had to guess, he’d guess this to be the master suite, meaning it had probably belonged to Derek’s parents. 

The thought was disquieting and somber. Stiles wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. It seemed almost silly that he’d been worrying over being allergic to Derek, when the actual cause was so depressing. 

“You’re not allergic to werewolves,” Derek stated, very sure of himself. 

“No, I suppose I’m not.” Stiles moved without prompting to help Derek lift up another slab of drywall. More sneezes came, but they were no longer an issue. They could be ignored, and he would stay. If anyone could understand what Derek was doing here, it was Stiles. 

They had both lost loved ones; Stiles had lost his mother, Derek his family. Stiles knew Derek’s actions for what they were. He was beginning to heal, to move past the pain with each new wall that was built. Stiles understood that.

Derek had no one. Stiles could push past any allergies and animosity he felt for Derek and be there in that moment to help, at least for one day, and give Derek someone.

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick?” Derek asked once more. 

Stiles could only laugh, a small smiling crossed his lips and he ducked his head. It wouldn’t do to let Derek see that. The day was then spent in quiet companion ship. It didn’t matter if a week from now the Argents would take this home from Derek once more, claiming it as there‘s, and forcing him onto the streets. 

That would come, but not now; not yet. It was in this moment that they would have peace. 

_The End_


End file.
